


Wedding Bell Blues

by SomeEnchantedEve



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:51:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeEnchantedEve/pseuds/SomeEnchantedEve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandon Stark manages to line up three dates for his little sister's wedding - recent ex-girlfriend Catelyn, beautiful new coworker Ashara, and old family friend Barbrey. As always, he expects Ned to play the role of the 'responsible brother' and help him out of the mess he's made. Meanwhile, Lyanna Stark struggles with cold feet, wilting in the center of what is considered the social event of the season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I told DKNC that I would post this if she posted the next chapter of 'Vows', so here we go! I'm also hoping that posting the first part of this entices me to get a move on finishing it - I have had the first part finished on my computer for quite awhile!

Catelyn and Brandon had broken up only a few months after her college graduation, and on the days when Catelyn is feeling bitter about the abrupt end of their three year relationship, she wonders if it had been her finishing school that had spurred it. He had been a second-year-senior (though he had claimed he was only a regular-senior because his freshman year had just been a consecutive series of drunken nights and blackouts before he got serious and buckled down; so in his mind, it didn’t count) and she had only been a sophomore when they had started dating. She is certain her father would have protested their dating if Brandon hadn’t been Brandon _Stark_ of Stark Enterprises, and so he had only frowned, whilst her uncle had declared that Brandon was too old for her and Lysa has seethed in jealousy at the pictures that Catelyn had shown her.

He had been wilder than any of the boys she had dated in high school, with a roguish grin and a penchant for getting into trouble, but he was incredibly handsome and charismatic – which often got him back _out_ of trouble - and the first year they dated had been good, really good. She couldn’t imagine him ever taking over his father’s business, and she was far more serious than she suspected he ever would be, but their time together had been carefree and fun, and that year, they had been inseparable. And even after Brandon graduated and took an entry-level job at his father’s business to begin learning the ins and outs of what would one day be his, he was charming and his attention had been solely focused on her the times that they did spend together. 

But charming and attentive as he had been, the times they spent together were rare, and Brandon’s excuses had always been vague, that he was _busy at work_ , and she understood, didn’t she? 

She had smiled and closed her eyes to what she didn’t want to see and told him yes, of course she did (she, more than anyone, understood the habit of putting business before pleasure). But when she had graduated, and moved into a tiny apartment close by and started her job as a paralegal, she had no longer been the idea of a girlfriend, but one in the flesh and blood, no longer far off and easy to ignore when her existence had been inconvenient. When suddenly she had fully reemerged into the bubble of his world, suddenly Brandon had sat her down and with regret etched across his handsome face told her that he didn’t think it was going to work out. 

It had taken time, and the wound is still not fully healed, but she believes now that he truly _is_ regretful for how it all turned out. Brandon cannot help the way he is, that his interest constantly wanes and wanders, and if he changes, it will not be anytime soon – but she does believe now that he is sorry for that, sorry that his heart is so fickle. 

Someday, she tells herself, Brandon Stark will probably grow up, but she is grown up all ready and she doesn’t have time to wait for him to catch up. 

If their breakup isn’t on the worst of terms, it isn’t on the best, either, and so she is surprised when his name pops up on her cell phone one evening. She is visiting her father for the week, and cuddled up in a sweatshirt from her alma mater on the big swing on the wrap-around porch, remembering when her feet couldn’t touch the ground and Petyr would come over from next door and try and push her and Lysa in it, tiny as he had been. The night air is cool but pleasant, and she wonders why she decided to go to school and then make her home in Maine when she can’t stand the brittle winters. 

“Hey,” Brandon says awkwardly when she answers. “Listen, this might be weird, but Lya still wants you to come to the wedding. I mean…you know. You could come as a friend. My friend.” 

Catelyn’s lips quirk up in a smile – she had helped Brandon’s sister label the Save the Date cards, back when she would still go to the Starks for Sunday dinner before it became painfully obvious that Brandon did not want her there, that she was encroaching on his life. Lyanna had called the whole thing stupid, had thought all the frivolities of a wedding a waste of time, and still Cat can’t quite believe that the wild college junior is the first of the Starks to get married. 

The dress that she bought months ago is hanging in her closet and still has the tags on it. She had planned on returning it when she went home again – it is a flattering shade of dark blue, but too low-cut to be appropriate for work and she could use the cash more than she could use the garment itself at this point. 

“You don’t have to,” Brandon adds when he is greeted with only silence, as she turns over the prospect in her mind. 

“No,” she replies slowly, relenting. “It’s all right. I’ll come.”

\--

In truth, Brandon keeps his standing date with Catelyn to Lyanna’s wedding solely because his sister tells him to. When he mentions that he wants to bring the new gorgeous girl at work who sits four cubicles down (he still can’t believe his father makes him use a cubicle; Brandon is all for climbing the rungs of the corporate ladder the old fashioned way as Rickard Stark insists, but surely he could climb it from the comfort of an office?), Lya punches him hard in the shoulder and tells him that she wants Catelyn to come, bestowing upon his ex the ultimate compliment that she was the ‘least terrible’ of Brandon’s past string of girlfriends. “Plus, you can’t uninvite her,” Lyanna protests. “That would make you a super asshole, instead of just a regular asshole.”

Brandon doesn’t understand why Lya is making such a big fuss over who he invites to the wedding. She’s sure to call the whole thing off before the rehearsal dinner, so it really is a moot point anyway. Ned doesn’t find it funny and scowls when Brandon tells Lyanna this, which their father says is because Robert is Ned’s best friend. Brandon thinks it is because Ned has no fucking sense of humor. 

Lyanna just punches him again, harder this time, and since she’s the bride, he even pretends it hurts. 

After he makes the call, he congratulates himself for his good sense in inviting Catelyn as his _friend_ , because really, that’s what she is now. And if she’s coming as a friend, well then, he would be justified in asking another girl to be his actual date, he tells himself. It isn’t that he doesn’t like Cat – he still likes her as a person, and they look attractive enough together if he does say so himself – it’s just that women like Ashara Dayne do not stay on the market for long, and Brandon wants to scoop her up before some lowlife that he works with gets his claws in her. 

Ashara’s dark violet eyes gleam in amusement when he asks her, leaning on the wall of her cubicle, and Brandon supposes it is a strange request for a first date – _do you want to come as my date to my little sister’s wedding?_ \- but even as she lets out a little laugh, pretty as the tune of a music box, she agrees. 

He’s refilling his coffee mug from the pot that brews way too weak and leaves grounds at the bottom of the cup (when he takes over, that will be the first thing to go) and fantasizing about what Ashara will wear (he hopes something that shows off the great tits that she always keeps under wraps at the office) when someone clears their throat behind him. He rolls his eyes, assuming whoever is behind him is annoyed he’s finished the last of the coffee (a common occurrence, since everyone needs to drink about four cups to equal the caffeine dosage of one regular cup), and roughly he shoves the pot back onto the burner, opening the little cabinet beneath to reach for a filter. “Don’t worry, I’m refilling,” he grumbles, and he hears a sharp laugh. 

“I don’t drink that sludge,” Barbrey says, and Brandon silently groans – the worst thing about his father being CEO is that _everyone_ he knows works at Stark Enterprises, including those he would rather not see. And he feels guilty, at times, that he doesn’t want to see Barbrey – after all, he’s known her since they were ten – but he’s been doing her best to avoid her the last few weeks, hurrying out to lunch before she can swing by his cubicle, ducking into empty conference rooms when he sees her heading down the hall. 

They started sleeping together again right around the time he and Cat broke up (whether it was technically before or after, Brandon likes to forget), and it’s always great – they’ve come a long way since the time that he took her virginity so many years ago, back in high school, underneath the bleachers after football practice. But lately she’s been clingier than normal, talking about _them_ as if they are a joint unit, talking about the future, and it’s exactly what he had tried to escape from when his relationship with Cat had ended.

Brandon’s never been good at letting girls down – Catelyn is the one who made the final break of it with him – so he’s settled for avoiding Barbrey instead. But Barbrey is savvy and just a bit too stubborn, and he’s just a bit too weak, and while they’ve been doing this thing – whatever it is – forever, Brandon also knows that she has one eye on the business as well. It’s how she ended up working here in the first place, by going right over his head and to the CEO Rickard Stark himself, with that innocent smile that Brandon’s father probably remembers from when she was just the kid who lived down the block. And suddenly Barbrey is everywhere, and Brandon just can’t handle it anymore. 

Barbrey likes to wear tight pencil skirts, and his eyes dance over her hips as she juts one out and rests a hand on it. If he can’t bring himself to look her in the eye, he might as well look at something pleasant, and he’ll never deny that Barbrey is attractive and knows how to use her good looks. “Looking forward to Lyanna’s wedding,” she drawls, and Brandon curses his father for making Lya add Barbrey and her sister and their father to the guest list. “I wasn’t invited with a plus one. Intentional?” 

Brandon twirls a plastic stirrer in his coffee, glancing down as though he is fully occupied with the task at hand, and prays that Barbrey forgets that he takes his coffee black. “I didn’t send out the invitations.” 

She shrugs, undeterred. “Well, just be sure to save me a dance.” And she’s using _that_ voice, the voice that tells him she doesn’t mean any of the cheesy line dances that are sure to be played during the reception, but something far more palatable afterwards. And even though he just invited Ashara as his date, Barbrey’s sureness turns him on a little bit, and he doesn’t set her straight. 

“Yeah, maybe,” is all he says in response, and they both know it’s nearly as good as a confirmation. He watches the sway of her hips as she walks away, and wonders briefly how he’ll keep three women entertained and happy over the course of a four hour reception. 

He doesn’t linger on it – he’s always been good at figuring these things out on the fly. 

\--

When Lyanna stands in front of the mirror in the bridal suite on the day of her wedding, and her bridesmaid fussily adjusts the gauzy veil over her dark hair, she almost doesn’t recognize herself. 

She hates dresses, and make-up, and panty hose, and really, everything this wedding stands for. She had wanted to run off to Vegas and elope, and Robert is crazy enough about her and impulsive enough on his own to agree, but Benjen talked her out of it, saying that their father would probably cut her off and never forgive her. 

After all, she is a Stark and there are certain things expected of her. 

When she shifts back and forth on her feet, restless, her friends cluck their tongues and say she has a case of the nerves. ‘Cold feet’ they say, like it’s not any big deal, and she wonders if they really know her at all. They’ve shut the door to the suite - so that no one can see in, they claim - but Lyanna thinks it is probably to keep her from bolting. Perhaps they do know her, after all. 

Brandon is slumped in a chair while they put the finishing touches on her outfit, his tie hanging loose around his neck and his shirttails untucked while he texts someone on his phone. He’d claimed he’d come to offer his ‘brotherly support’ but Lyanna knows better than to fall for that. He’s been lurking for the last hour, hiding in a place where he’s sure to not be found, and had distractedly mumbled something about asking Catelyn to meet him at the church when Lyanna asked, before furiously tapping away at his phone. He’s up to something, and Lyanna is most often his partner in crime, but today she is too distracted to worry about what sort of mess Brandon is getting himself into – one he’ll probably expect, as always, Ned to help him get out of. 

Today she has her own worries, her own mess, the inescapable fact that in three hours she’ll be Mrs. Lyanna Baratheon and she still isn’t sure how she feels about that. Robert had been the one eager to get married, which surprised everyone when they had announced their engagement because they all knew what a huge flirt Robert was. Sometimes Lyanna still wonders if the wedding will fix that, will fix Robert – or at the very least, if that’s what _he_ believes, that tying the knot will enact some miraculous change in him where suddenly he won’t be checking out every girl who walks by. 

He doesn’t mean anything by it, she knows. Robert loves her. And Lyanna has her own guilt, her own secrets, when sometimes her mind wanders to seeing Rhaegar Targaryen on campus, sitting under a tree and strumming his guitar, singing under his breath and completely oblivious to the hoard of girls who slow as they pass by, struck by the beauty of his voice and music (and his _face_ , she has to admit). They linger on benches, stretch out on blankets near him and pretend to study, yet never turn a single page in their textbooks but he never pays them attention, never invites one to come sit by him. 

Lyanna didn’t hover and she didn’t wait, and she had never spoken to Rhaegar. But sometimes she thinks about him, resting against the thick trunk of the oak in the courtyard, or the pierce of his violet eyes the one time she had felt his eyes upon her in Lot 6, right before he pulled his helmet over his thick white blonde hair and hopped on his motorcycle. She’s never seen him meet anyone’s eyes, but he had looked at her that day, and the flip her heart had done had felt like a betrayal. 

He had seemed so exciting, and a little bit dangerous, and Robert is many things, but _mysterious_ is certainly not one of them. A part of her mourns that she will know what to expect from her husband, every day, for the rest of her life. A part of her wonders if she’s making a mistake. 

They tell her she just has cold feet, and that she makes a beautiful bride. 

She kicks at Brandon’s calf with her bare foot – not too gently, because she’s still irritated at whatever he is up to. She doesn’t have to know what it is to know that it will piss her off later that day. “Help me with my shoes,” she demands, and she flops down on the bed, hearing her maid of honor suck in her breath at Lyanna’s lack of care for her dress. “You know how to tie them, and I can’t reach in this cream puff I’m wearing.” Angrily, she bats at the fabric that surrounds her like a gauzy cloud. 

Brandon frowns, confused. “ _Tie_ them?” He raises his eyebrows when Lyanna nods towards her shoes, dumped in a pile at the door. “Seriously, Lya? Dad’s going to kill you.” 

“I’m wearing them,” she replies stubbornly, and Brandon shrugs and helps her pull on and tie her riding boots. He doesn’t try and talk her into wearing the stupid heels that cramp her toes instead, and she loves him for it. Of all the ridiculous accessories being forced upon her today, those shoes are the least _her_ of them all. Horseback riding, _that’s_ her, and lecture from her father or not, she’ll wear her favorite boots today. 

Brandon pulls the laces tight and looks up at her, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smile. “You’re really going to go through with it?” he asks skeptically, and Lyanna remembers the jokes he’s made since she announced her engagement, months ago.

She’s been determined to prove him wrong, as she’s always wanted to prove anyone who told her she couldn’t do something wrong; but as she stands in her comfortable, well-worn boots, she reminds herself that it is about more than that. She hopes it is about more than that. 

\--

When Ned goes to lead Robert over to the church, he enters the hotel room and finds that his best friend can barely stand up. 

He had thought this would be over after the bachelor party, when Robert had drank more than Ned believed to be humanly possible – at least three drinks to every one of Ned’s – and then thrown up and passed out in the backseat of Ned’s new car. In retrospect, it had probably been Ned’s fault for offering to drive, but he had thought it had fallen under his duties as best man. And in any case, the car had been cleaned easily enough and Ned had figured Robert’s nerves would abate with his nausea. 

Instead he finds Robert leaning heavily against the bureau, with a bottle of Jack Daniels mostly empty next to him and his brother Stannis frowning in disapproval. “Ned!” Robert roars in approval, his eyes bloodshot and barely focusing on his friend’s face, his words slurring together as he continues. “Is it time to go make an honest woman of your sister?” 

Exasperated, Ned ran a hand over his face. “Jesus, Robert. You couldn’t have at least waited until the reception?” He’s smart enough to know that he couldn’t expect Robert to not indulge all day, but for how crazy Robert is about Lyanna, Ned had assumed he would at least keep it together at the ceremony. _Maybe that’s why he’s started drinking already, because he’s so crazy about her._ And when he looks closely, his friend’s hands tremble slightly from where there clutch at the bureau for support. 

Robert frowns, pushing up to stand and swaying on the spot, so that Ned has to cross the room in three quick strides to steady him on his feet. “Of course not! It’s a celebration!” 

“God only knows what Lyanna has to celebrate,” Stannis mutters under his breath, but while Ned supports Robert by pulling one of Robert’s arms around his neck, Stannis moves forward and ties his brother’s tie. And if he isn’t as gentle as he could be, the knot is perfect in either case. 

Benjen eyes Robert warily before moving to his other side to help Ned, and between the two of them Robert manages to stay upright. “No wonder we weren’t invited to bring a date,” Benjen mutters. “We signed up to be babysitters. Brandon had the right idea.” 

Brandon, Ned thinks, is, as always, looking out for Brandon by claiming that he would be assisting their sister and would meet them at the church. Brandon had blatantly disregarded that he had not been invited with a date, as well, claiming that since their father was paying, he could invite whomever he pleased. He had somehow managed to line up not one, but _three_ dates, including the beautiful new hire at their father’s company, Ashara Dayne. Ned had for weeks contemplated asking her out to dinner, but he couldn’t quite pluck up the nerve, and Brandon, as always, had beaten him to the punch. 

Ned thinks now that it is probably for the better that he decided to not invite a date, that being Robert’s best man is going to be an all-night job, but he can’t help but be a little bitter at how easy of a time Brandon has with beautiful women. Ever gracious, Brandon had tried his hardest to try and pawn one of his other two dates – his ‘accidental dates,’ he has taken to calling them – off on Ned. The last two weeks he had gone into overdrive, extolling their many virtues, but all Ned knows is that Catelyn Tully dated his brother for almost three years and Barbrey Ryswell used to see him as a nuisance when they were children playing together, and she and Brandon would ditch him to make out behind the pool shed. 

Brandon’s self-satisfied smile when he joins them at the front of the altar when they arrive at the church, when he takes in Robert’s glazed eyes and swaying stance, confirms that his decision to ‘help Lyanna get ready’ had been entirely based on the fact that he had assumed Robert would be blitzed out of his mind.

Suddenly, Ned feels foolish for expecting anything different – from his brother, and from Robert. _I should know better than that by now._

\--

It takes Catelyn until the reception to realize that Brandon is up to _something_. 

He had told her to meet him at the church rather than picking her up prior, and she hadn’t thought much of it when she hadn’t seen him before the ceremony began. He was in the wedding, after all, and he had lined up at the front of the altar with his brothers and Robert’s, and Catelyn had found a seat next to Brandon’s great-grandmother, Old Nan, who had immediately started telling Catelyn some of her favorite stories from Brandon’s childhood (Catelyn had thought that it was almost a shame they weren’t dating anymore, because the stories were _fantastic_ ammunition). But Nan had grown silent and misty-eyed when the ceremony had begun, and if Lyanna looked more terrified than happy, she had looked beautiful enough that not many seemed to notice. And if Robert’s speech had seemed more slurred than normal, at least he had been able to stay upright. 

But when she arrives at the reception in the huge ballroom of the swankiest hotel in town – only the best for Rickard Stark’s only little girl – Brandon is nowhere to be seen. Awkwardly, she filters in, wondering if she made a mistake in coming and if she should have taken the out that Brandon had offered her. 

She becomes all the more sure that she should have bowed out when she finally catches sight of him. She half-raises her hand in greeting, but at the sight of her, Brandon’s eyes go wide and he ducks behind an older couple, disappearing in the mass of guests as quickly as he had appeared. 

Catelyn lowers her hand, equal parts embarrassed and irritated. _He probably wishes I had taken the out, too._ Irritated, she heads towards the bar, where Benjen Stark and Renly Baratheon are cajoling the bartender, trying to convince him to serve them, the matching boutonnieres in their tuxedos wilting. “They’re not legal,” Catelyn announces, suddenly in a sour mood and all too ready to rain on someone else’s parade. 

Benjen scowls at her – he’d obviously expected an ally in her, and normally, were she not feeling so rebuffed, she really would have just let it go tonight of all nights. “Am too,” he protests after the bartender takes her order and returns with a glass of Cabernet. 

“Are not,” a familiar voice behind her answers before she can even open her mouth, and for a moment, her stomach twists as she mistakes the voice for Brandon’s. She whirls around, but it is his brother Ned who is standing behind her instead – which makes more sense, when she thinks about it. Brandon, after all, would hardly be the one pointing out that his little brother is underage. She hasn’t spent a lot of time with either of Brandon’s brothers, but she’s spent enough to know that Ned is by far the most serious of them all, and the most rule-abiding. 

Benjen’s face grows surly at the sight of his brother. Benjen had always been the most easy-going of all the Starks, Catelyn remembers, but he must know that of all his siblings, Ned is the most unlikely to help him with his underage drinking. “Traitor,” he says, and Catelyn isn’t sure who he’s directing it to. “I’m going to go find Brandon.” 

“Yeah, well, let me know if you find him. Apparently I’m his date,” Catelyn snaps at Benjen’s retreating back. Then she sighs, regretting her childish outburst. She exhales her anger in a long breath, and takes a deep sip of her wine – it’s still Lyanna’s wedding, and she’s only a guest here, while Brandon is family. Much as Brandon’s disappearing act irritates her, it would be better if she let it roll off her back and just used it as a reminder of why they had broken up in the first place. 

Politely, Ned doesn’t say anything, and motions instead for the bartender. Catelyn watches out of the corner of her eye as the bartender brings over a beer and a Coke, placing them down in front of him. “Interesting combination,” she says, hoping to divert attention from the fact that she’s currently standing by the bar, alone, realizing with each passing moment that Brandon had clearly intended for her to be Old Nan’s date rather than his own. 

“The soda’s for Robert,” Ned explains, picking a drink up with each hand. “I just tell him it’s Jack and Coke.” She laughs a bit, at that – she doesn’t feel qualified to judge herself, but Brandon’s always called Ned boring, so she finds it funny that Ned is best friends with someone like Robert Baratheon. Ned smiles in response, and the change in expression has a pleasing effect on his features – he isn’t nearly as classically handsome as Brandon, but his entire face is transformed when he isn’t looking quite so grim and serious. 

She glances down the length of the small bar – the guests are still filtering in, and most are hovering around the new couple, waiting to offer their congratulations. Brandon, she notices, is still nowhere to be seen, and she has a sudden desire to not be left alone – there’s nothing quite as pathetic as drinking alone at someone else’s wedding. “Want to have a drink first?” she asks Ned suddenly, gesturing to the seats at the little bar, and he gives her a strange look, so that she wonders if she said something wrong, if she should tell him never mind. Instead, she shrugs, taking a sip of her wine. 

Ned puts the glasses back on the bar. “Yeah,” he answers to her surprise, lifting his beer to his lips. “Sure. Why not?”

\--

When he gets to the reception and Catelyn raises a hand to wave him over, Brandon realizes that he has grossly overestimated his ability for deception. 

His mind blanks and he ducks – basically he runs for cover – and even as he makes his way across the room he curses his lack of subtlety. But he’d glanced out during the wedding and seen Ashara sitting there in that tight black dress, a smile on her lips full of promises that he had every intent on making her uphold, and it isn’t _his_ fault that Lyanna had made him invite Catelyn and his father had invited the Ryswells; if he had his way, he would have one date only and so this situation really isn’t any of his own doing. 

Catelyn’s hovering by the front bar so he barrels towards the back one, managing to shake Barbrey off when he encounters her by the dance floor by promising to bring her back a drink. To his relief, he sees Ashara lingering by the doorway, and he quickly changes course, heading her way. His relief fades away when he notices her chattering politely with their manager Barristan Selmy, who has an unusual flush to his cheeks and a slight nervous twitch to his hands that sets Brandon’s teeth on edge. _He’s at least twice her age,_ he thinks impatiently, and he quite pointedly circles around so that he is able to wedge himself between them, and win another few crucial inches of distance. 

Barristan frowns slightly, and Brandon offers his most charming grin in response – it wouldn’t do to have Barristan go to his father and complain about his conduct; Brandon is savvy enough to know that his father would much rather keep Barristan around than Brandon himself. Few businessmen are more respected in the community that the recently-promoted Vice President of Stark Enterprises, and Brandon only hopes that by the time he takes over the business, Barristan will have finally, blessedly retired and therefore, Brandon won’t suffer in comparison. 

Ashara smiles at him, seeming to not notice the hanging tension in the air, and loops her arm through his. “There you are. I was beginning to think you were trying to hide from me.” 

_Not from you, believe me,_ Brandon thinks wryly, but she’s close enough to the mark to make him sweat, and he tries to think of ways to explain away Catelyn and Barbrey both. He turns his smile to Ashara now, admiring the low cut in the front of her halter dress, revealing much more skin than he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing at work. “Never,” he declares. “I was merely held up with my wedding party duties.” He leans in, kisses her cheek, and inhales the fragrance of her hair. “But I mentioned that I had the prettiest woman in the room as my date, and I needed to attend to her, and I managed to get out of the rest of the pictures.” 

Ashara’s red lips curl up into a smile. “Hmm. Shirking your duties?” 

Barristan snorts, shaking his head dismissively, and it takes enormous effort on Brandon’s part to keep the smile on his face. “Me? Never,” he replies, studiously keeping his eyes away from the older man, not inviting comment or critique, and with his free arm, he gestures towards the dance floor. By his calculations, if they linger near the back, they should avoid Catelyn’s gaze from the front bar. “Shall we?” 

She tilts her head in acquisition, and it is only when they start heading back towards the bar that he remembers Barbrey, and his promise. 

“Wait just one moment,” he asks Ashara, halting in front of the bar. “I told my cousin I would get her a drink.” 

\--

Lyanna figures it out when Barbrey and her sister Bethany greet her in the receiving line. She doesn’t know the Ryswell family that well, despite growing up near them and their father working for Lyanna’s father for years, and Lyanna figures her father invited them to be polite. Bethany is nearly old enough to be her mother, and her distant, cool manner has always unnerved Lyanna, and her husband might be the creepiest man Lyanna’s ever met in person, all soft whispers and medieval health cures that Lyanna’s pretty sure aren’t even legal anymore. (How their son, Domeric, ended up so perfectly normal is something that she’ll never comprehend – she thought about asking him the one time they ended up at a party together and ended up selected for Seven Minutes in Heaven, but making out seemed like a better use of their time.) 

Barbrey she knows better, albeit more _intimately_ than she would like to – she walked in on her and Brandon screwing in their pool shed one time, five years ago. Barbrey’s made a point of avoiding her ever since, but Lyanna will always be grateful for the excellent blackmail. Threatening to tell their father kept Brandon at her mercy for at least six months. 

So she greets them politely, the way she has all of her father’s work friends, who really came to see him and have little interest in seeing her get married, though they offer their congratulations all the same. Bethany gives her a thin-lipped smile, if the twitching of the corners of her lips could even be called a smile, and Barbrey asks her if she’s seen Brandon, her face turning red even as she mentions Lyanna’s brother. “He’s supposed to be my date, but you wouldn’t know it looking at me standing here alone,” she says, a hint of defensiveness in her voice, and Lyanna blinks in surprise. 

“No, I haven’t seen him,” she murmurs in response after taking a heartbeat to recover, even as her eyes rove the room in search of her brother. And she finds him easily enough near the door, with a big grin on his face and his grey silk tie loosened around his neck, his hands jammed into the pockets of his pressed black pants as he leans into a gorgeous brunette that Lyanna’s never seen before. The woman throws back her head and laughs at something at Brandon says, and Lyanna’s stomach clenches in anger. 

She isn’t sure if she even murmurs an excuse to Robert next to her – even if she had, she’s sure Robert wouldn’t notice, being three sheets to the wind at this point. She hikes up the skirts of her dress, grateful that she didn’t relent and wore her boots instead of the ridiculous sky-high heels she had purchased (only threat of death from her maid of honor had made her buy them in the first place). Her irritation grows with every stalking stomp she takes towards her brother, until she is livid, nearly irrationally angry, that she had only asked one simple thing of him and he had managed to fuck it up on the one day that’s supposed to be her own, and that by the end of the day, she’ll have three very pissed off guests who were all supposed to be Brandon Stark’s plus one. 

“Brandon!” she grounds out when she stops in front of him, and the girl next to him smiles brightly, revealing the straightest, whitest teeth Lyanna’s ever seen, so blindingly perfect that Lyanna wonders briefly if the woman is a dentist. But when she takes in her entire appearance, she amends her judgment to ‘model.’ 

“Congratulations!” the woman exclaims, holding out a hand while Brandon manages to at least look sheepish next to her. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet. I’m Ashara – I work for your father, with Brandon.” 

_Of course you do,_ Lyanna thinks wryly, but she musters a smile that more likely resembles a grimace. “Thanks,” she grits out, and her fingers curl in an iron grip around Brandon’s bicep. “I need to talk to you for a moment. Excuse us,” she adds to Ashara. 

He opens his mouth and Lyanna can hear his protests before he even voices them, and she pinches the skin above his elbow hard between her thumb and forefinger. He lets out a yelp of surprise, yanking his arm back and glaring at her dolefully before turning to Ashara. “I’ll be right back,” he assures her, and Lyanna almost wants to interject that no, if she has her way, Brandon will _not_ be right back. She bites down on her lip hard to keep the words at bay, tasting sweat and the tang of her cherry lipgloss. 

“All I asked was for you to bring Catelyn and act like a decent human being for a few hours,” Lyanna complains when they have moved several paces away, hitting Brandon hard on the shoulder. 

“You asked me to bring her, which I did,” Brandon supplies. “You said nothing about being a decent human being!” He smiles, all charm as usual, and Lyanna feels her mouth tighten into a line. 

“So you brought Catelyn, and you also brought this one,” she waves her hand vaguely in Ashara’s direction, “and then Barbrey Ryswell is under the impression that she’s your date, as well. Wonderful. Just great, Brandon. Thanks for turning my wedding into a three ring circus.” 

“Jesus, you’re such a drama queen,” Brandon mutters, rolling his eyes. “Look, Barbrey invited _herself_ as my date, _after_ I’d invited Ashara, so that’s her fault. And _you’re_ the one who thought it was a great idea for me to still bring my ex-girlfriend, when really, that’s weird as hell, Lya. But she’s fine! Last I saw her, she was drinking with Ned at the bar. He’ll keep her company. Ned loves redheads!” 

It surprises even her when Lyanna feels tears well in her eyes, and viciously, she blinks them back. She wants nothing more than to reach up and rub her eyes with the backs of her hands, the way she did when she was a little kid, but she’s wearing false eyelashes and a ton of mascara and a treasure trove of other products that aren’t her at all, not even a little bit. “Why do you always have to ruin everything?” she demands of Brandon, trying to keep her anger focused. She tries to stay mad at _him_ so that she isn’t mad at Robert for being drunk off his ass, or at her father for making her have such a lavish ceremony, or at herself for not having the guts to stop it, for all that she’s prided herself on being brave in the past. 

She’s even angry at the florist, who used blue flowers in the winding centerpieces when practically the only request Lyanna _made_ about the stupid flowers was no blue, because it reminds her too much of the blue roses that showed up at her dorm room a few weeks ago, and the note that came with them, all things better left forgotten. 

“Hey,” Brandon says, voice softer now, and he steps closer, his eyes suddenly serious. Lyanna blinks even more furiously at his concern – her brother can be stupid, and self-centered, but he isn’t completely oblivious and he has a good heart. He knows her enough to realize that this is beyond his stupid plan to have three dates at once, and he stops her with his hands on her arms when she goes to turn away. “What’s this really about, Lya? Are you all right?” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” she snaps, and she hits him squarely in the chest with the flat of her palm. The low-hanging chandeliers catch on the diamonds of her engagement ring, the diamonds that circle the wedding band, and she fights the sudden urge to rip them off, to throw them to the ground. They suddenly seem to weigh a ton, and her hand falls heavily back to her side. Unbidden, thoughts of Rhaegar Targaryen float to her mind once more - _he_ wears a ring, though Lyanna’s never seen a wife, yet it doesn’t seem to stop his smoldering gazes, as though it makes no difference at all. _It changes everything_ , she tells herself, and she blinks back tears. 

Brandon’s hand circles her wrist, big and steady and soothing. “It’s not too late to get out of here,” he tells her quietly, rubbing over the knob of her wrist with his thumb. Her anger dissipates as quickly as it came – she knows her brother, knows he would do anything for her, anything she asked. If she told Brandon that she wanted to leave, he would forget all three of his dates and take her wherever she wanted to go. It’s been that way since she was born, and it used to make Lyanna feel safe, protected. Now it only makes her feel sad, for the loss of freedom, the iron clamps of responsibility and adulthood that hold her in their grasps. 

Lyanna’s laugh is short and bitter, and her eyes sweep the grand ballroom, full to bursting with friends and family and business associates and old classmates. In truth, Lyanna probably only knows half of the people who claim to be on the bride’s side. If she vanished, she muses briefly, would anyone really notice? 

“Yes, it is,” she replies miserably.


	2. Part 2

To Ned’s dismay, sharing a drink with Catelyn at the bar somehow signifies to Brandon that Ned is more than happy to help him with the entirety of that night’s deceptions. It is when Catelyn slips off to the ladies’ room that Brandon quickly descends, clapping Ned on the back and thanking him for distracting one of the ‘extra’ ladies he had ended up with. “And you said you weren’t interested,” Brandon crows, and Ned does not bother to correct him, does not try and point out that it is not Ned’s own self-interests that had brought him here, but common human decency – Catelyn had been uncomfortable and unhappy, and the fault had lain completely at Brandon’s door. The least he could do, in his opinion, was attempt to distract her. 

His irritation only grows when Brandon gestures him over to follow to where he had been standing with Ashara, who waits for his return while looking stunning in her plunging black dress. Ned knows that Brandon is unaware that Ned had thought of asking Ashara out – not that such a thing would have stopped Brandon for trying to win her for himself, anyway – but it feels like salt in the wound regardless to see them standing arm-in-arm. 

“Ned, would you keep this charming lady company for a few moments?” Brandon asks, throwing his brother one of his characteristic grins, the ones that so often win him his way. He steals a glance at the door to the ballroom, where Catelyn is reentering, her eyes scanning the room in search of someone. Briefly, Ned wonders if she is looking for Brandon, or for him. “I want to make sure to say hello to cousin Catelyn…see how Uncle Hoster is doing after the operation.” Brandon turns his best doleful expression on Ashara, confiding in a hushed voice, “I’m his favorite nephew, after all. But don’t tell Ned that.” He squeezes Ashara’s hand reassuringly, and Ned’s teeth clench involuntarily. “I’ll be back in a moment.” 

He does not wait for Ned to respond, but rather disappears as easily as a wisp of smoke, leaving Ned standing awkwardly on the edge of the dance floor with yet another of Brandon’s dates for the evening. “You certainly seem to have a number of beautiful cousins,” Ashara says wryly, and Ned’s eyes widen in surprise even as hers dance in amusement. This woman is the one that Brandon has the greatest interest in deceiving throughout the evening, yet she seems to have caught on the quickest, despite Catelyn’s irritation and Barbrey’s huffiness – but the truth seems to barely bother her. 

“And that’s…all right?” Ned asks, rather awkwardly, uncertain how much he should confirm or deny. Lying has never been his strong point, and yet he has little desire to try and explain Brandon’s motives – not when he doesn’t even understand them himself. To Ned, Brandon’s life has always seemed unnecessarily complicated, from the running around he would do in high school and college to the acrobats he would perform to try and keep Catelyn in the dark about the other ladies he saw while he started his career and she completed her degree. He still feels guilty about that, the way he would smile politely when Brandon would bring Catelyn around for Sunday dinner, the way he kept his mouth shut to cover his brother’s tracks. While he knows he was right to be loyal to his brother, there are still times he thinks he should have told her the truth, told her that she deserved better. And tonight had been no different – he had sat next to her at the bar, caught up on the missing time, but he had not come clean about why Brandon was neglecting her. 

Ashara shrugs, and the casual movement anchors Ned back to the present. “It doesn’t really matter,” she says. “I know who he wants to be here with.” The way she smiles, with such easygoing self-assurance, is incredibly familiar, and though it takes Ned a moment to put his finger on it, when he does he cannot help but smile back ruefully. _Brandon,_ he thinks, _she is a lot like Brandon. Perhaps they are suited, after all._ What Ned sees as an unnecessary complication – deceiving three women in one night – seems simple and harmless when falling from Ashara’s lips, and he wonders if that is how Brandon thinks of it, as well. Perhaps that is the entire reason Brandon had been attracted to Ashara, besides her striking looks – he recognized a kindred free soul. 

Ned glances across the room, where his brother is engaged in conversation with Catelyn. Her arms are crossed tightly, defensively, while Brandon’s arms wave in large, exaggerated circles as he undoubtedly spins a tale of his wedding-party-responsibilities, or whatever nonsense he hopes to sell. _It’s all a game to him,_ he thinks, and by the way that Catelyn’s face pulls into an irritated scowl, she seems to have as little patience for it as Ned himself does. 

But Barbrey choosing that moment to stomp across the ballroom, her face dark and foreboding, is a curveball that even his brother had hoped to avoid. “Excuse me for a moment,” Ned murmurs to Ashara, who nods with that same carefree nonchalance before wandering towards the bar. Ned is sure that she will find any manner of company there – she is likely the most beautiful woman in the room. And he is throwing away the opportunity to take advantage of Brandon’s mistake, to claim a few precious seconds of his own to talk to her, in order to clean up his brother’s messes. As always. 

By the time Ned makes it across the room, Barbrey is already railing at Brandon, her voice shrill as she confronts him. One thing he could never accuse Barbrey of is dishonesty – she has no qualms in sharing exactly what she feels, exactly when she feels it, no matter who may hear. “You swore that it was _over_ between you two,” she demands, jabbing a perfectly manicured finger at Brandon’s chest. “Are you here with her?” 

“Are you here with _her_?” Catelyn echoes in disbelief, turning to Brandon as well. Her voice is quieter, a whispered hiss, but the way that her face flushes red reveals how truly embarrassed she is. Whatever she suspects Brandon to have been up to, it is clear that another scheduled date had not crossed her mind. And why would it – Catelyn has always seemed honest and upright to Ned, and he isn’t surprised that Brandon’s underhanded scheme has caught her off-guard. 

“She’s here with me.” The words tumble from Ned’s mouth before he has time to consider them, and three pairs of eyes turn to him in surprise as he awkwardly places a hand on Catelyn’s shoulder. Brandon grins in almost unbearable gratitude, Barbrey narrows her eyes in suspicious disbelief, and Catelyn gives him a baffled stare. 

“I didn’t realize that you two…” Barbrey tilts her eyes, pursing her lips as she scrutinizes their faces. 

“We’re not,” Ned replies hastily. “Lya’s idea.” Barbrey has always been sharp, and Ned has always been a bad liar, and so he thinks sticking as close to the story as possible would be beneficial. To the side of him, Brandon is nodding so hard in agreement that Ned half-expects his head to become detached, and he mouths ‘thank you’ over Barbrey’s turned shoulder. He ignores the gesture – though his declaration had surprised even him, he knows well enough that he did not do it to save his brother from an uncomfortable – and well-deserved - position. Hesitantly, he drops his hand, grasping Catelyn’s long fingers in his palm. “Come on. Let’s…er…dance.” 

It is an awful suggestion – Ned is at least as bad of a dancer as he is a liar – but it neatly removes them from the situation as Catelyn uncertainly puts her hand on his arm and lets him lead her out to the dance floor, to join the twirling couples there. The music is old-fashioned, his father’s choices, and Ned is sure that Lyanna is hating every one of them – they are not to her taste at all. “Why did you say that?” Catelyn asks quietly as he puts a hand on her back, keeping her hand in his grasp with the other, and begins shuffling his feet half-heartedly to the music. She studies him with the same sort of searing gaze that Barbrey had bestowed upon him only minutes ago – but somehow, on her face, it seems less accusing, and more as though she is merely trying to puzzle him out. 

“I…” Ned hesitates; how can he explain something he does not fully understand himself? “You don’t deserve to be made a fool of,” he says finally, softly, and it sounds right – not just for tonight, but for all the nights before, when Catelyn had still dated his brother and Ned sat silently, letting Brandon play his games. 

Her fingers tighten briefly on his, and she looks away, her face flushing once more in a mixture of embarrassment, indignation, and anger. “I should have known,” she says, her voice laden in bitterness, and Ned thinks how little it suits her. He is used to Barbrey’s sourness; she has worn it proudly as her mantle since their childhood. But Catelyn has always seemed different – happier, more vivacious – and he hates that Brandon has affected her so. “I knew he didn’t want me to come. I just didn’t think he would invite someone else, as well.” She shakes her head, her frustration evidently turning on herself. “I should have just stayed home.” 

“Don’t say that,” Ned argues quietly, steering them as best he can so that Catelyn’s back is to Brandon and Barbrey. The two are still engaged in heated debate, with Brandon casting nervous glances over at the bar where Ashara is currently holding court with a number of their coworkers, including a smitten-looking Barristan Selmy. The two of them are already practically forgotten, but Ned still wants to spare Catelyn the discomfort of Brandon seeing her so upset. “Of course you didn’t expect it.” Catelyn isn’t nearly cynical or conniving enough to expect such underhanded behavior. “Lya’s glad you came. So is my father.” He pauses, and then, with a glance down at his feet, he nervously adds, “I’m glad, too.” 

“You are?” Catelyn replies, a hint of disbelief in her voice, and Ned cannot begrudge her that. She dated Brandon for three years, but in all that time, Ned can probably count the number of conversations they have had on two hands. Ned’s always been careful to give Brandon a wide breadth with his conquests, the parade of women he would bring by; Brandon accuses him of being cold and antisocial, but Ned doesn’t see the purpose in getting to know each of Brandon’s girlfriends in the brief period of time they are around. And in truth, he has always found it difficult to talk to beautiful women. He supposes that is to be expected, growing up in the shadow of his more charismatic, better-looking older brother. And Catelyn certainly is beautiful, with those wide blue eyes and the prettiest red hair Ned’s ever seen. 

He looks away, embarrassed and guilty at the trail of his own thoughts. A few moments ago, he had been begrudging Brandon for swooping in and snatching Ashara before Ned had an opportunity to even approach her, and now he is admiring his brother’s ex-girlfriend. _You were smarter before, when you told Brandon you wanted no parts in this,_ Ned thinks, but the quiet gratitude in Catelyn’s eyes makes him feel good, and he can’t quite regret stepping in. 

“Yeah, I am,” he confirms quietly. “It’s good to see you again.” 

An odd look flickers across her face at that, and she studies him for a long moment. “It’s good to see you, too, Ned,” she answers. He isn’t sure whether it is for Brandon’s benefit – he can be the jealous type, despite his own wandering eye - or perhaps to keep the pretense up for Barbrey’s sake, but whatever the reason, she takes a step closer and lightly rests her head upon his shoulder. 

He freezes for a moment – surprised, but not displeased – before uncertainly resuming what he hopes passes for dancing. It is truthfully easier this way, to just sway in their spot, and yet harder to keep his thoughts from how nice her hair smells, from the way her breath feels against the crook of his neck, from how nicely their bodies fit against each other. 

He wonders again if it is part of a show for Brandon, and then he wonders why it would bother him so much if it were. 

\--

The back of the ballroom opens up to a large outdoor patio, and that is where Brandon joins Catelyn, with his beer clutched in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, intended as a peace offering. She doesn’t turn to face him, but he can tell that she knows he is approaching – her shoulders tense, her arms fold, her posture turns stiff and uninviting. The twinge of guilt that he feels is a good reminder of one of the many reasons he has avoided relationships since his long-term one with Cat ended. He has no desire to hurt women or upset them, but his interest always wanes so quickly - it is easier to just spend a night with a woman, and if she expects more from him, to blame it on a misunderstanding and disappear in the morning. Brandon has not missed the guilt, the glares, the icy silences when Cat would catch him in a lie, and the reemergence of it irritates him as much as it embarrasses him. 

“Hey,” he starts cautiously, holding out the glass of wine. She takes it, which he considers a good sign, but doesn’t look at him. “Where’s Ned?” 

Catelyn lets out a humorless huff of laughter. “Maybe he got tired of babysitting me for you,” she says sarcastically. 

“Nahhh,” Brandon replies, taking a swig of his beer. “He likes you. I can tell.” And he is pretty sure Ned does, in his completely shy, awkward way, which is why he is likely hiding on the opposite side of the ballroom, probably quaking in his dress shoes. Brandon isn’t sure how he feels about that, but tonight isn’t the time to try and sort that out. “I’m sorry, Cat,” he adds, throwing her one of his most charming grins, the one that always seems to help him wriggle out of trouble in the past. She glances at him, but her face is hard as stone, her eyes like ice chips. “It was sort of…an accident,” he tries to elaborate. 

“Right – an accident that you invited two dates,” she scoffs, and Brandon debates silently for a moment if he should just come clean and admit to the third. But the last thing he wants is to make Catelyn even angrier and thus make this conversation all the more unpleasant, so he decides to take the easy way out, as he so often does, and keep his mouth shut. 

“Barbrey kind of invited herself,” Brandon protests, and this much at least, is true – no matter that Brandon had not put up much of a fight. “My father invited her and her family to the wedding, but she decided that she was also going to be my date.” He bumps his shoulder lightly against Catelyn’s, trying that winning smile again – it had worked so well when they had dated. “You know I’d much rather spend my evening with you.” _And I’d like to spend it with Ashara even more,_ he adds silently. 

Catelyn sighs, and her angry expression seems to melt away with the dissipation of that breath. Now when she turns her face back to him, she only looks weary and a bit sad, and somehow that is a thousand times worse than the anger. “You haven’t changed a bit, Brandon,” she tells him ruefully, taking a long sip of the wine he brought her. 

Brandon grins, but his smile is half-hearted this time. “Most ladies tell me that’s a good thing,” he jokes, but the words fall flat even to his own ears, and Catelyn’s eyes soften noticeably as they do. 

“Whatever makes you happy,” she replies, and while the sentiment seems honest enough, the words are doubtful, as though she cannot fathom that his life of bed-hopping from one beautiful woman to another could possibly bring him joy. She pushes away from the railing. “Thanks for the drink – I’ll let you get back to your date,” she says, and if the roll of her eyes that follows those words isn’t exactly affectionate, nor is it as icy as he expected. Tonight, he’ll consider that a victory.  
Brandon watches as she walks back into the ballroom, instinctively admiring the view from the back as she walks away – the fall of her long auburn hair, the way the dress she’s wearing cinches her narrow waist and hugs the curves of her hips and bottom. He has to give himself credit – he always chooses well. Every girl he has been with has been beautiful, charming, intelligent, and in and out of his life as quickly as a flash in the pan. 

He keeps his gaze on her as she approaches Ned, who is continuing to take his best man duties seriously (but then, Brandon thinks, what does Ned _not_ take seriously?) by attempting to wrestle a beer from Robert’s grasp. Brandon, for his part, is proud to say that he has managed to avoid anything even slightly resembling a groomsmen’s duty all evening. _Ned, slayer of good times everywhere,_ he thinks wryly, but somehow he doubts that that is what Catelyn says to him, when she puts a hand on his arm – not by the way that Ned smiles in response. 

The twinge of jealousy that strikes him takes him by surprise, and he mentally scolds himself. Hadn’t he been hoping that Ned would take one of his dates off his hands? Besides, he knows himself well enough to know that it is the indignity of having a woman choose one of his brothers over him – a situation he has never yet encountered, what with Benjen being so young and Ned being so shy – that bothers him, more than the fact that it is Catelyn in particular. And Cat is right anyway – he hasn’t changed, and probably never will, and he never makes it a habit of taking a girl for more than one spin. He learned that lesson early on with Barbrey, and he’s paying the price even today. A clean break is always less complicated. 

“There you are.” Ashara’s warm voice snaps Brandon from his thoughts, and the sight of her there, framed in the doorway with the soft light from the ballroom making her hair shine, is enough to make the touch of jealousy ebb away again. All the deception and lies were worth it, he decides, for the opportunity to have the most beautiful woman in the world on his arm. Her next words stop him in his tracks, however. “Trying to get rid of me?” 

It’s the way she says it – with a mischievous glint in her eyes as she slinks out to join him on the balcony – and while part of his brain scolds him for being paranoid, the other part is completely, absolutely certain that _she knows_. He wonders if Barbrey cornered her, too, or if she overheard him speaking with Catelyn, and he racks his brain for a way to diffuse the situation before he is forced to have another Serious Discussion. He has had more than enough of that for tonight. 

“Never _you_ ,” he answers without thinking, and she laughs in response, tossing her head back in amusement. It is such a startling change to have a woman be amused – rather than angry or hurt – at his antics, that Brandon can only stare at her dumbly for a long moment before he, too, joins in the laughter. 

\--

“Did you know? About Brandon and Barbrey?” she asks Ned as they finish their slices of cake. Catelyn had been assigned to a completely different table, but there are plenty of available seats as most people are still swinging around the floor to the beats of the wedding band. She had learned pretty quickly that Ned hates to dance, and it makes her appreciate his impromptu means of saving her from embarrassment all the more. 

He ducks his head, concentrating on the last sliver remaining on his plate. “I found out a few days ago. I told him it was a terrible idea, but you know Brandon doesn’t usually listen to me.” He sighs, silent for a moment, twirling his fork between his fingers as he seemingly turns something over in his mind. “There’s Ashara, too,” he finally admits with some reluctance, and Catelyn’s eyes widen. 

“Ashara? Who’s Ashara?” she demands. 

“Ashara Dayne. She’s pretty new at the company – and Brandon didn’t waste any time,” Ned replies, and Catelyn thinks she detects a hint of bitterness in his tone, though it is gone as quickly as it came. “He…er…invited her, as well.” He places the utensil down on the table, scrubbing a hand over his face as though that will erase the thought. “I’m sorry, Catelyn,” he adds sincerely, but she barely hears his apology over the unexpected laughter that bursts forth from her lips. 

She doesn’t mean to laugh – she _shouldn’t_ laugh – but at this point, it seems like the simplest, most freeing thing to do. Perhaps that is the best way to react to Brandon, she thinks even as she works to get her giggles under control. They aren’t together anymore - this entire evening has served as a colossal reminder of _why_ they aren’t together – and so anger feels like a waste of energy, a waste of time. Brandon is who he is, which at times could best be summed up as ‘a complete asshole,’ and to get angry over that is like getting angry at the waves for knocking over your sandcastles. Only Brandon would be arrogant enough to think that he could get away with such a stunt, and the entire thing is so ridiculous that there is nothing to do but _laugh._

Unfortunately, she is too busy doing exactly that to verbalize this sudden revelation to Ned, and so he stares at her as though she has lost her mind. “I…I’m sorry,” she gasps, trying to get herself under control. But every time she manages to quiet, she recalls the way Brandon’s face had blanched when she had waved to him upon entering the ballroom, how confused and irritated she had been when he had run away as though someone had set his shoes aflame, and the gales of laughter start anew. “Your brother is just…he is _such_ an asshole,” she manages to get out. 

Ned’s face darkens in response, his lips pulling into a grim line. “He is,” he agrees gravely. “You deserve better than this. You always deserved better than this.” 

His earnest declaration and the solemnity of his face is enough to make her giggles die on her lips. “You’re sweet to say so,” she tells him softly, and without thought, she reaches out to smooth the deep furrow settling on his brow with her thumb. “But you don’t need to look so serious. It’s all right.” And to her surprise, it is, though Catelyn is not sure if it is because she has truly moved on to the point of being able to see the humor in the situation, or if she has simply run out of anger at and heartache for Brandon Stark, after all the disappointments that have come before. She had once been so hurt because she had trusted him, had believed him capable of better, but she has learned to never be surprised at Brandon’s thoughtlessness. It is a sad lesson, perhaps, but a relief all the same to be free of the emotional burden of caring about what Brandon Stark does. 

A hint of a smile graces Ned’s lips before fading away again. “Hasn’t Brandon told you that I’m always serious?” he asks, and Catelyn is not sure if he is teasing her or being self-deprecating. In either case, he’s right – Catelyn knows that Brandon loves all his siblings, but he always had the hardest word for Ned. The two are as different as the sun and the moon, and Brandon had always complained that Ned was dull, solemn, grim, tight-laced. 

“Yes,” Catelyn admits, and she lets her hand fall away from his face, landing on top of his on the tabletop. “But he left out your most admirable qualities.” 

He doesn’t press her to elaborate, which surprises her – Brandon had loved nothing more than hearing how handsome, how charming, how gallant and generous he is. And he is all of those things, along with a thousand other qualities both good and bad, but she appreciates that Ned does not press her for praise. The warmth that slowly spreads in his grey eyes as he looks upon her is more satisfying still, and absurdly, Catelyn feels herself blushing under his gaze. 

It is a stupid, reckless idea, to yield to the sudden thrum of attraction she feels, but she is just tipsy enough and foolish enough to sink into the feeling, rather than draw away from it. But she is still sober enough to keep her thoughts to herself – she may not have spent much time with Ned while she dated Brandon, but she knows well enough how different the two brothers are – Ned is so quiet and reserved, with a gravity about him that she had once interpreted as dislike for her. It is clear now that that is not the case, but she is still fairly certain that any sort of bold move on her part would not be appreciated. 

Instead, she turns the discussion to something safe – to work, to friends, to family. Ned mentions that Benjen is thinking of skipping college and joining the military, and how his father had fumed at the thought of his third son not falling in step and joining the family business. Brandon will take over eventually, Catelyn knows, but she highly suspects Ned will be the brains behind the operation, the one who will keep Stark Enterprises in business. She wonders if it bothers him, the thought that he will spend the rest of his life cleaning up Brandon’s messes, or if he simply sees it as his responsibility to his family. 

He asks about her brother and sister, to her surprise – she never would have expected him to remember that she _had_ a brother and sister, much less their names and ages. It is oddly touching; as is the way that he listens intently when she mentions with a slightly disapproving tone how Lysa is planning on moving to North Carolina to chase Petyr down, when she sighs about Edmure’s poor grades. She had always found it a bit disconcerting, how quiet Ned could be, but now she finds that it is nice to feel listened to, to feel important. It is easy to return the favor, to ask him about his master classes, and how he juggles that with his growing responsibilities at Stark Enterprises, and she finds herself genuinely interested in the answers, in learning more about this person who had always been on the precipice of her world but never quite a part of it. Brandon had been so all-consuming that she had found little time for anyone or anything else, if she is honest with herself. 

It is easy to talk to him – so easy that she does not realize how much time has passed until Barbrey swoops down upon them. “Have you seen Brandon?” she demands of them, hands on her hips. She gives Catelyn a suspicious sidelong glance, and Catelyn bites back a sarcastic response – does Barbrey think she is hiding Brandon beneath the tablecloth? She is just as wronged as Barbrey in this situation, if not more so. 

“I haven’t,” she answers coolly, but when she scans the room to see if she catches sight of Brandon, she notices that most of the guests have departed, leaving the huge room empty and echoing. _I suppose Brandon decided who he wanted to spend his evening with,_ she thinks wryly, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection – not when she has passed the hours so enjoyably. But Barbrey obviously takes his absence more personally, and if Catelyn surmises correctly, she has no idea about Brandon’s third date, Ashara. Despite the mix of irritation and distress on Barbrey’s face making her feel a bit guilty for keeping the information to herself, Catelyn stubbornly keeps her mouth closed on the issue. It is Brandon’s mess, and she won’t be the one to try and explain it away – she did that often enough when they dated. 

Ned does not divulge the information to Barbrey, either, and Catelyn briefly wonders why he told _her_ \- they likely could have gotten through the rest of the evening without Catelyn learning about the third woman. But whatever Ned’s reasons for speaking then and keeping his silence now, she appreciates his coming clean to her – Catelyn may hate being lied to and hate being tricked, but she hates being made a fool of most of all. “Come on,” Ned says instead, standing up. “I’ll escort you ladies to your rooms.” 

Barbrey sulks the entire way up to the eighth floor, where her hotel room is located. Catelyn can see the reflection of her scowling face against the polished elevator doors, and when they open, she storms ahead of them down the hallway. Her sour mood seems to not deter Ned at all as they follow at a respectable difference to Barbrey’s door, and he bids her a mild good night even as the door slams in his face. 

The mood during the ride up to Catelyn’s room on the eleventh floor is far more relaxed, and while Catelyn knows that Barbrey has every right to be angry – and that Catelyn herself has worn similar irritated expressions where Brandon is concerned, including earlier this night – she can’t help but be a bit amused at Barbrey’s flouncing anger, especially when compared to Ned’s calm politesse in seeing her safely to her room. 

“I’m sorry again,” Ned apologizes when they arrive at her door and she digs out her card key. “For my brother.” 

“Don’t be,” she answers swiftly. “You were a better date by far.” She frowns when he scoffs. “I mean it. Don’t sell yourself short, Ned. You’re worth ten of Brandon.” 

She reaches up without thinking, cupping his cheek in her hand, running her thumb over the bristle of his beard. He smiles, still with a hint of self-deprecation lingering in the corners of his mouth, but his voice is nothing but honest when he says, “You were always too good for him.” 

She’s been thinking for the last few hours what it would be like to kiss him, but that is the moment that she finally does so. He is not as tall as Brandon, but still tall enough that she has to stand on her toes to reach him, especially since he seems to have frozen in surprise. Slowly, cautiously, as carefully as he does most things, he relaxes into the embrace, his hands going hesitantly to her hips. “I didn’t…I don’t want you to feel like I was trying to…” he trails off, tongue-tied and obviously embarrassed, and Catelyn notices that his eyes linger on her lips despite his protests. 

“I know,” she says softly, and she pulls his head back down towards her again. She never for a moment thought that Ned had any sort of ulterior motive for being so sweet to her tonight – he is not that sort of man; he had stepped in for her because he thought it the right thing to do, the kind thing, the honorable thing, and Ned is all of those things and more. Of course she had found herself attracted to him, and despite his hesitance, she suspects he feels the same – a thought that is confirmed when he meets her more eagerly this time, reassured. 

His lips brush hers and she instinctively opens her mouth; his hand goes to the back of her head, over the French twist she had fixed her hair into, and he gently tilts her face to the side. And then they are truly kissing, her tongue in his mouth and his hand bracing the door beside her head; she’s locked between the solid bulk of his body and the cool wood behind her. His other hand moves slowly from cupping under her chin to the curve of her neck, sliding lightly over the slope of her shoulder, along the curve of her breast and the dip of her waist. His touch is almost shy when his fingers slide along her bottom, pulling her up against him, and she inhales sharply at the feel of his hard cock pressing against her belly through both of their clothes. 

Ned’s lips slip from her mouth to her neck, leaving a warm trail of kisses there, and she is unable to keep a moan from escaping her mouth, her head instinctively tipping back. It feels good, and it’s been a long time _since_ she’s felt so good – after Brandon, there were a few failed dates with Jaime Lannister, and Petyr always liked to call and remind her of his presence, but she has largely been alone since her breakup with Brandon. She is fully aware how screwed up things will be if she takes things further tonight, and yet she cannot bring herself to care, to stop – it has been a long time since Catelyn has been selfish, has thought of her own pleasure, and tonight, she can’t help but want him. 

“Come inside,” she breathes, fumbling for the card key once more. He hesitates on the threshold, and she wonders if he will be the one to bring them to their senses, to force them to think logically, to think of what Brandon would say. She hopes not, and to her relief, he follows her after a moment, shutting the door behind him. 

Ned is careful to follow her lead – she could ask him to leave at any moment, she realizes, or tell him that she had no more than a game of cards in mind, and he would not even have a nasty glance for her. She unzips her dress herself, reclining back on the white bedspread against the pile of pillows, clad in her black strapless bra and underwear, and he watches her from across the room. 

He wets his lips. “You’re very beautiful,” he says hoarsely, and she can feel her cheeks burn pink even as she boldly meets his eye and pats the space on the bed beside her. 

It is different than being with Brandon, she cannot help but think; even as she fights to keep herself from comparing the two, it is impossible to ignore. Ned is not quite inexperienced, but nor does he have Brandon’s sure, suave confidence, born of a thousand or more encounters. It makes the experience strangely more intimate - near the end, there had been a sort of detachment in sleeping with Brandon. He had known what girls liked, the touches and kisses to bring pleasure, but forgotten what Catelyn in particular enjoyed. At times, Catelyn had thought that any girl could have been in bed with him, and Brandon would have made the same exact moves. Ned is not always right on the first guess, but he studies her face carefully, taking note of what caresses bring pleasure and which bring indifference, finally twisting and stroking his fingers between her legs until she is sighing and arching under his hand, shuddering as she comes apart. 

Catelyn pushes him to his back, crawling over him as he grips her hips tightly between his hands. She leans over to the bedstand where she had tossed her purse, pawing through it until she finds the condom she always keeps there. Lysa had teased her for that, had called her a slut, but Lysa is also the one who had a pregnancy scare at sixteen. While she reaches across, Ned leaves hot, wet kisses on the plane of her belly, nuzzling up to between her breasts, his tongue darting out to catch the sheen of sweat there as he slides his hands around her back. 

He meets her lips again as she rolls the condom on him – that is another difference, Ned kisses her more often, as though her mouth is a touchstone, a reassurance and confirmation that she wants him, wants _this_. She breaks the kiss with a gasp as she guides him inside her, and his head falls to her shoulder as he groans in pleasure. She hesitates a moment before beginning to move, adjusting to the feel of him, trying to put from her mind the fact that the last man inside her was his brother. 

Once she begins to roll her hips, it is easier to forget. 

His hands slide up from the small of her back, pulling the pins from her hair so that the red locks tumble over her shoulders and white breasts; he moans in appreciation, burying his fingers in the curls, pulling her head back to his to kiss her again, wildly this time, his tongue plunging into her mouth.

And then suddenly she is flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling, and Ned has increased the pace, pushing into her with deep, hard strokes that she feels down to her toes. She cries out in surprise, her hands spread wide and nails digging into the shifting muscles of his back. Each thrust send a wild thrill of pleasure shocking through her body, and she cannot help but smile at the sudden charge he has taken, cannot deny that there is a bit of relief that he is capable of such passion. She wraps her legs around his hips and moans as he sinks in deeper, and he takes her by surprise again as he slips a hand back between their slick bodies to thumb her clit in quick, hard circles, sending her careening off the edge again. He shudders against her when he follows, his head falling to her shoulder, his hot breath teasing the peak of her breast and making her shiver. 

She puts her arms around him, relishing the heavy, solid bulk of him, making a little sound of protest under her breath when he rolls off her and onto his side to face her. They do not speak for a long moment, the room quiet save the sound of their quickened breath, and Catelyn wonders if she has just made a huge mistake, entangling herself with yet another Stark. 

He kisses her again, softer and sweeter this time, and there is nothing doubtful in the way he touches her. 

\--

They leave the hall to the hooting and hollering of friends of her father’s, and well-wishers that she does not know. Lyanna nearly falls under the weight of Robert leaning against her, his arm heavy around her waist as he returns the crude suggestions with lavish promises, enough to make her ears burn red.

“Are you ready to const…consm….to do it?” Robert slurs, his thick arms wrapping around her waist from behind as she presses the up button for the elevator. She rolls her eyes and doesn’t respond – she’s sure that Robert will be passed out the moment his back hits the king-sized bed, and the only thing she can think of is that she can’t bear to stand in this wedding dress a moment longer. She’s also positive that Robert won’t be able to help her with the corset lacing on the back in his current state, but Lyanna is not adverse to ripping the entire thing in two in order to be free of it. 

She should be angrier at Robert than she is, that he couldn’t even keep it together for their wedding. But the truth is, he’s had to throw her drunken ass – her _underage_ drunken ass – over his shoulder more than once, including at his brother’s graduation party at the docks, and he’s never scolded her for her immature behavior. If she is honest, their wild childishness has always been what pulled them together, that they were both careless and carefree by nature. If she hadn’t been so worried about her father’s rage breaking over her head, Lyanna would be just as drunk as Robert is. Maybe things would make more sense if she were. _Why the hell did we get married? We aren’t the marrying type. I don’t want my adventure to be over yet._

The hotel room is too white for her tastes when she opens the doors, as though the décor itself is proclaiming them married – the sheets are white, the walls are white, the tiles in the bathroom are white, and the bathroom is where Lyanna scrubs her face raw, ripping off her fake eyelashes in the process, letting out a yelp of pain as the glue sticks to her eyelids. The sound of Robert rustling in the other room, opening the door to the mini bar, and cracking open what Lyanna assumes to be a beer is enough to sway her momentarily from a numb sort of sadness into the anger she had so craved earlier. “Jesus, Robert, would you give it a break?” she yells through the closed door, even as she reaches behind her to desperately yank at the laces of her gown. “Do you plan on drinking your way through our marriage?” Even as the words leave her lips, she knows they are ironic – haven’t they been drinking their way through their relationship and been perfectly content to do so? _Perhaps he is as afraid as I am,_ she muses briefly, and she doesn’t know if that makes her feel better or worse. 

She manages to wrestle the white, puffy monstrosity of a dress off of her torso and narrow hips, and leaves it in a heap on the ground. The skirt is so voluminous that the bodice almost stands up alone, and that only serves to irritate her further. She isn’t completely opposed to dresses, and isn’t even completely opposed to the idea of marriage – but she has always imagined it differently, has always _wanted_ differently, and every time she looks at the damn dress, she is reminded of all the things she compromised on that she should not have, all the things she did not want that were foisted upon her because she did not stand up for herself. Free of the gown, she can bend down to unlace her riding boots herself – the one symbol of her victory, the one place she did not relent, though she had been certain to hide them from her father’s sight as best she could. 

Lyanna sighs in relief as she pulls on a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized t-shirt, which takes a great deal of maneuvering to get over her head with her hair done up in such an elaborate fashion. She is pretty sure that the amount of aerosol that was released in the atmosphere when they sprayed her hair is enough to kill an entire rainforest, and her hairdresser must have cleared out the drug store’s selection of bobby pins for use in Lyanna’s long, thick hair. And she had certainly been successful – even now, hours later, Lyanna is only able to pull out about half of the pins, many along with some dark strands of hair still caught around them. “Maybe a shower will loosen them,” she mutters to herself – she is exhausted and had wanted to wait until morning, but perhaps now is as good of a time as any. 

Robert grins at her when she comes back into the bedroom to root through her bag for her shampoo and her towels. “You look sexy as hell, Lya,” he slurs from his supine position on the bed, and despite his ridiculous level of intoxication, her heart softens towards him and she smiles. Other men would expect sexy lingerie, a revealing nightie, and while Lyanna is pretty sure Robert appreciates those in other women – and while that makes her angry as hell at times – he has never failed to call her sexy and beautiful at her most unkempt and unflattering, in the most genuine voice in the world. And wearing Benjen’s shorts and Brandon’s t-shirt, her face a smudged mess and her hair a knotted disaster, Lyanna is pretty sure this is the worst she has ever looked. _And it’s all downhill from here,_ she thinks unhappily, and she grabs her towel. Soon, she’ll be the frumpy housewife with a black-haired, blue-eyed child on each hip, just trying to make it through the day.

The tears well up in her eyes so quickly that she barely has time to turn her back to hide them. “I’m hopping in the shower,” she mumbles, and she scurries off to the safety and privacy of the bathroom. She manages to turn on the water, strip naked again and step beneath the spray before the torrent of tears is unleashed. She rests her forehead against the cool tile wall, trying to muffle her sniffles and sobs so that she isn’t heard over the running of the water, though she imagines Robert has likely passed out at this point. The contrast of the cold wall and the hot steam makes her head ache, and with a moan of discomfort, she slides down to sit on the floor of the tub, her head resting on her knees. 

_The happiest day of my life,_ she thinks, with a fresh wave of tears. Wasn’t that what everyone had told her all evening? That today is the happiest day of her life, today is the start of the rest of her life – settling down with a house and a picket fence, a minivan full of babies in their carseats. Robert had beamed and grinned as though he had never longed for anything more, and Lyanna wonders if she really knows him at all – and if he knows her, or if he really thinks that she is ready to settle down in such an idyllic, domestic lifestyle. 

No one had really asked if she was ready…except for those roses, and that note, with the hint of a promise of something more, of an adventure. It isn’t one that Lyanna is sure that she wants, but while she is uncertain about that, she is positive that she does not want the life lying ahead of her – not now, not yet. _Think about it…_ the note had asked, and now all Lyanna can do is think, and regret. _I will never forgive myself for staying quiet and going along with it. Why didn’t I tell my father no?_

As she had suspected, when she leaves the bathroom, Robert is sprawled on his belly across the king-sized bed, snoring loudly, his beer three-quarters empty on the nightstand. Normally she would kick and push him to one side, slide beneath his heavy arm if need be, and curl up and go to sleep beside him, but tonight, she simply watches him for a few long moments. 

_He loves me,_ she thinks, and maybe he does really believe that getting married will make things better between them, will fix the things that are broken and intensify the things that are good. She is the one who should have known better, who should have put her foot down, who should have insisted they wait. The mess they find themselves in is her fault, no matter how much she tries to blame Robert, or her father, or her bridesmaids, or the distant relatives who haven’t seen her in years who turned up in droves today. It is her fault, and she is the one who has to figure out what to do with that. 

Silently – though she knows Robert well enough to know that she could bring the wedding band up to their room and still Robert wouldn’t stir – she slides on her flip-flops, grabs her wallet, her phone and her keys. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to the figure on the bed – and she is. The guilt she feels will be one more burden for her to carry, wherever she goes, wherever her heart leads her. 

But wherever that may be, Lyanna follows that path. She leaves the hotel room, closing the door behind her with a click. Leaving may be a mistake, but she is certain that staying would be one. 

\--

The insistent blaring of his cell phone wakes Ned up far before he is ready; without opening his eyes, he reaches over to the bedside table and rejects the call – whoever is on the other end can wait for a more reasonable hour to have his attention. 

It is not until he rolls to his other side that he remembers in a rush that he is not alone, and instantly he is paralyzed with indecision. Catelyn is still sleeping, the crisp white sheets bundled up to her chin despite the fact that, in Ned’s opinion, the room is far too warm to be so covered. Her red hair is wild over the pillowcase, tangled and curly and stiff from the hairspray that had held it in place the night before. His fingers twitch, and he fights the urge to reach out and smooth the locks off her face – it feels oddly presumptuous, despite the fact that he is currently lying naked in bed beside her. 

Ned could count on one hand the number of times he has found himself in such a situation – always in college, and always thanks to Robert and his never-ending keggers. He has not gotten any better at it with age, and he finds himself turning the same questions he always has over in his head – should he stay or leave? Would she prefer to wake alone and avoid the morning awkwardness, or would she be insulted if he slipped out without a departing word? Is this meant to be a one-time occurrence, or could there be something more budding, something worth trying for? 

His phone rings again, and angrily, Ned snatches it up, punching the ‘end call’ button hard. Robert’s name flashes briefly across the screen before disappearing, and Ned’s mind is in so much of a turmoil that he only gives the quickest of thoughts as to why Robert would be calling him the morning after his wedding. _He probably doesn’t remember anything from yesterday, and wants a play-by-play before Lyanna wakes up,_ he thinks to himself, irritated. 

When he places his phone back beside him, he dares a glance at the wastebasket at the base of the nightstand. Three discarded condoms lay on top, and he cannot help but smile ruefully as he remembers how desperately he had pawed through his wallet for the third, when Catelyn had sleepily reached for him in the middle of the night. “I only carry two,” she had murmured against his neck, and he had nearly leapt from the bed, hoping to discover one still in place within the side zipper of his wallet. He is not Brandon, who Ned thinks probably solely keeps Trojan in business, but he had been fortunate last night – in more than one way. Catelyn had laughed from her spot on the bed, cloaked in darkness, and normally that would be enough to make Ned feel embarrassed and self-conscious. But instead, he had laughed too, and had dragged her down to the end of the bed with him, his prize clutched in his free hand. She had smelled of sex and some sort of lingering floral perfume, and he had wanted her even more than he had earlier in the evening. 

Just the memory of those pleasure-soaked hours is enough to make his cock hard again, and he winces in discomfort, rolling back to his other side and trying to think of something decidedly unsexy, like how Old Nan had fallen asleep at the reception, or about the mountain of paperwork his father had slapped on his desk at the end of the day Friday that awaited his return Monday morning. His phone rings again, and he is almost grateful for the distraction, until he sees it is again Robert, and he chooses to reject the call once more. 

The sound of this call causes Catelyn to stir, and he waits, frozen in a mix of uncertainty and arousal, as she stretches. The sheet slips down her chest, revealing her white, rounded breasts, and the sight is _not_ a help to Ned’s current state. Her eyes flutter open, and to his relief, she doesn’t seem surprised to still see him there beside her. “Hi,” she murmurs, her voice thick, and she shifts to face him. Her smile is sleepy and shy and entirely too tempting – all at once he wants to both turn her on her back again and pull her in the circle of his arms and not move for the rest of the morning. 

He should do neither – she’s Brandon’s ex-girlfriend, and he swore long ago that he would never play sloppy seconds to his brother, though there has been more than one girl who wanted to cry her heartbreak on his shoulder, even one or two who thought to use him for revenge. He doesn’t think Catelyn is one of those women, despite the terrible treatment she received last night at Brandon’s hands, but it is the epitome of a messy situation – the sort that normally would send Ned running in the opposite direction. 

And there is Brandon, of course – Brandon who had tried to pawn Catelyn off on him even before the wedding, but certainly would rage if he heard they slept together. Such is Brandon’s way, and unfair and disgusting as the behavior may be, Brandon is still his brother. 

“Hi,” Ned replies, sitting up and scrubbing a hand over his face, trying to ignore the throbbing of his cock. He chances a look over at her, and the pang is in his heart this time as he drinks in the sight of her, spread languid on the pillow with that sweet smile on her face. It’s complicated, but one glance at her has him wondering why they can’t make it easy. “How did you sleep?” 

“Great,” she replies, stretching her back gracefully, and he is reminded of the way she arched beneath him in bed last night, her lip caught between her teeth ( _Old Nan_ , he feverishly chants to himself, _paperwork_ ). “Who was on the phone?” 

“Robert,” he sighs. He scans the room, searching for a glimpse of his clothing, but unwilling to leave the bed until his…situation…is better controlled. “How about we go for breakfast?” he asks, and her smile slowly fades away. 

“You don’t have to do…this,” she says vaguely, waving her hand in his direction. “The morning after routine. I enjoyed last night…you don’t have to feed me as some sort of guilt-induced payment.” 

The words sting, more than he cares to admit. Perhaps he had misjudged the situation, perhaps it _had_ been about getting even with Brandon. “It isn’t _payment_ ,” he snaps, and he hates that the lazy satisfaction of the morning is already marred with hurt feelings and misunderstanding. “I thought we could…never mind. Don’t worry – you don’t have to humor me.” He pushes the sheets away and goes to stand, but she catches his arm, her blue eyes pleading. 

“Wait,” Catelyn says, and since his body is still taking a moment to catch up with his mind, he does. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just…” she nips her bottom lip uncertainly, and then says with raw honesty, “This is just strange, Ned. I’m not sure what we should do.” Her fingers run soothingly up and down his arm, and despite himself, her touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “But maybe breakfast is a good place to start.” She gives him a tentative smile, and he can’t help but return it a bit ruefully, his anger burning off as fog will after dawn. He can’t begrudge her some uncertainty, not when he shares the same feelings, when the only thing he is certain of is that he does not want to say goodbye to her just then. 

She leans in when he smiles at her, brushing her lips lightly over his own, and that smallest touch rocks through him like an electric shock. He cups under her chin, holding her in place so that he can kiss her again, and he can feel her mouth curve up against his before she parts her lips. “Cat…” he murmurs, and thoughts of Brandon and his reaction are far away when she falls back into the pillows and he shifts to settle between the cradle of her thighs. She is beautiful and soft and supple beneath him, and with each caress he is more and more certain that this cannot be the last time he touches her – he feels as though he is drunk on her as he slides his hands to her breasts, filling his palms with the soft weight of them. 

His phone rings again, and Ned decides that he will have to kill Robert. 

With a groan of distress, he rolls away and grabs the phone, finally picking up with an unfriendly, “ _What?_ ” hissed through gritted teeth. 

Robert is still drunk – at least, Ned is sure he must be, as he can barely make sense of his bellowed ramblings. He blubbers something about Lyanna being gone – and Ned has to restrain himself from sarcastically asking if Robert checked the bathroom. “Her things are all gone!” Robert roars, and Ned draws the phone away from his ear with a wince. Only agreeing to come to Robert’s room, to see for himself the proof of Lyanna’s absence, is enough to make Robert stop ranting and allow Ned to hang up the phone. “ _Hurry!_ ” Robert urges him before Ned ends the call. 

Catelyn is watching him with a furrowed brow, and Ned imagines that Robert had been yelling loud enough to make the entire hotel privy to their conversation, much less the woman in the bed with him. “I may have to skip breakfast after all,” Ned says with a sigh. His heart gives a heave of disappointment at the thought, and he gathers his courage, unwilling to just walk away. “I would like to reschedule, though,” he tells her, reaching out to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “Maybe for dinner? On Tuesday?” 

Her face is inscrutable for a moment, and Ned is seized with the sudden fear that she will reject him. Perhaps it is too much for her, perhaps she has had enough of the Starks all together – and if that is the case, Ned can hardly blame her after Brandon’s debacle the night before. And so it is like a weight lifted from his chest when she says softly, “I would like that very much.” 

His heart is light again as they dress, and before he even leaves he finds himself impatiently looking forward to when he will see her again. He kisses her again before he departs to head to Robert and Lyanna’s room, but he does not bid her goodbye. 

‘Goodbye’ is a word that he has no intention of saying to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Yes, Lyanna's story is left rather open-ended...but I kind of like that it echoes canon that way. ;-) I may pick it up again at some point - we'll see! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and/or commented - your feedback means more than I could ever say!


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